The Case of The Cat Who Walked
by VerbaVolant
Summary: Irene and Sherlock had great chemistry, but she worked for Moriarty. John has a terrible love life because the rest of his life revolves so heavily around Sherlock. This is a little what if... Metaphorical cats only, sorry.
1. By Herself

I do not own Sherlock (neither the BBC version nor the original book series or any of the interpretations). I also do not own "The Cat That Walked By Himself". This story begins during season 2 episode 1, the Scandal in Belgravia.

I loved the interaction between Irene Adler and Sherlock, but felt it could have taken a very different direction if she wasn't working with Moriarty, so this story is my "what if" about Sherlock meeting someone similar but different instead. Eventually Sherlock/OC/John.

Huge thanks to Blue Dot77 and Alice Bekett for all their support.

Sherlock was in Buckingham palace, in a sheet. Which amused both Watson and himself somewhat; leaving them in a jovial mood by the time Mycroft arrived. The elder Holmes brother on the other hand was not quite so cheerful about Sherlock's attire, or his attitude. The meeting between the three of them and a gentleman by the name of Harry was not going well, even before Sherlock decided to throw a Diva tantrum and storm out the room because they wouldn't tell him who wanted to hire him. Mycroft's shoe came down on the trailing edge of his sheet, bringing him to a halt as he scrambled to hold it about himself.

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up." Mycroft growled softly, hoping not to make this into more of a scene than it already was proving to be.

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock demanded.

"Or what?" Mycroft's sibling rivalry with his younger brother snuck into his tone despite his best efforts, reducing the pair to squabbling children. Watson took a deep internal sigh.

"Or I'll just walk away." Sherlock threatened.

"I'll let you."

"Boys please..." Watson began to interrupt them when a figure entered through the door, blocking Sherlock's exit.

"Oh do call his bluff Mycroft." The young woman's hazel eyes swept over the detective appraisingly, causing Mycroft to lift his foot and Sherlock to wrap his covering back about himself. "Spoilsports. Oh don't look at me like that." She spoke to Mycroft as he glared at her, clearly unhappy with her playful tone. "I brought you a present." She winked, pulling a phone from her pocket. His eyes lit up, interesting Sherlock and Watson.

"Is that what I think it is?" Harry asked from the back of the group, reminding everyone that he was still there.

"No, it's a piece of cheesecake." Her sarcasm brought a smile to John's face, which he quickly squashed.

"How did you get it?" Harry asked.

"More importantly how did she know we wanted it?" Mycroft muttered as he reached to take the small plastic object.

"I keep my ear to the ground, you know me. That is the second thing I have given you that you have wanted, so now I may warm myself by the fire for always and always and always and yet still I am the cat who walks by herself and all places are alike to me." Mycroft scowled at the slightly paraphrased quote, he scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "Thank you."

"It'll take a few days for me to set it up." She nodded.

"I'll tell my employer everything's settled. If you'll see them out?" Harry spoke to Mycroft.

"Yes of course."

"So you dragged me all this way for nothing? I should have known." Sherlock complained his eyes narrowing. "And what precisely was with the Rudyard Kipling reference?"

"Never mind brother. You can go home now, and for goodness sake try and wear some clothing next time I see you."

"Aren't you going to introduce me first?" The woman smirked as Mycroft tried to hustle them out the door. She strode over to pick up Sherlock's clothing, handing it to John.

"Sorry, I'm John Watson." He commented, ignoring the glare from Mycroft, he held the clothing with his left hand and proffered his right for her to shake.

"Sophia Thompson, so is the great Sherlock Holmes..." she gestured over her shoulder to where he stood, "quite as arrogant, difficult to work with, irritating and brilliant as his bureaucratic twisted genius of a brother?"

"Definitely," Watson replied with a tight smile and his dry humour.

"Splendid. Let me know if you need anything, I can achieve and acquire some rather impressive things if I put my mind to it." She gave him a card. "Of course nobody does anything for free but I'm sure I can give you a very favourable deal, similar to the one I have with Mr. Holmes the elder." She walked towards the door. "I look forward to hearing from you John, oh and Sherlock," she paused by him as she passed, "feel free to continue to consider clothing optional should you want to." She waved as she left. There was a brief silence.

"Wow." John broke it with a slight shake of his head.

"What exactly did she mean by the deal with you?" Sherlock asked, his eyes focusing on his brother.

"Not now Sherlock. I have some rather delicate arrangements to make. Just try to avoid needing her; I'd hate to see her get her claws into you."

"I'd rather like to know who we're dealing with."

"The price for the first gift that she brought me, one which might I add saved the lives of a good number of very important agents in key positions, she asked for diplomatic immunity and her records to be wiped. She said that it was to be brought in from the cold, into the cave so to speak in her ever so charming way of relating our arrangements to a children's story. I won't tell you what this phone cost, or what it could have done in the wrong hands, but the price was also very steep, one she knows I find myself required to pay. I can only assume the things she might ask of you may be just as... dramatic."


	2. The Cave

I do not own Sherlock or Rudyard Kipling's The Cat Who Walked By Himself.

This chapter is set during season 2 episode 3, the Reichenbach fall.

"You Repel Me." Sherlock spoke into the dictaphone before stalking out of the bathroom.

"Now that wasn't very nice." Sophia stated from where she leaned beside the entrance to the men's bathroom waiting for Sherlock to finish his conversation with the woman who had followed him into the bathroom at the trial. She decided it was pointless to pretend she hadn't been eavesdropping.

"It wasn't meant to be." He commented narrowing his eyes at her. "What is it you think I want from you?" He expected her to make some asinine comment asking why he thought that was her reason for coming here so he could explain his logic, but she gave him a little smile that he could have sworn held traces of approval with the humour and raised an eyebrow, glancing at the door pointedly as the reporter made her way out, waiting for her to leave before continuing.

"Have you worked out Moriarty's plan yet? Why he let himself be caught?" She asked quietly, clearly intending to avoid prying ears.

"Are you working with him?" He asked, his deep voice accusatory as the words rumbled out of him, before he considered. "No... when I met you before Mycroft treated you with dislike but also respect and he warned me against dealing with you because of the prices attached, not the potential for betrayal, so to a certain degree he must trust you, at least to keep up your end of a bargain. It is not easy to get even that little amount of trust from Mycroft, I doubt you'd be able to do so if you were the kind of person to help Moriarty in plotting against me. So I find myself forced to ask for a second time, what..."

"The trial's the whole point, he wants you to irritate the judge and the press, just like you did with that reporter and he's going to get a verdict of not-guilty, unless you want me to change that result?" She asked casually.

"I have more than enough evidence to assure a guilty verdict without your fixing it." He declared confidently.

"If the jury isn't tampered with." Her casual tone was infuriating.

"Is that a threat?" Sherlock practically growled, glaring at her.

"No. Now do you want my help or not?" She asked, stepping closer as she let her eyes slip to his lips and back suggestively. "Your call."

"And what would be your price for leaving the jury alone?"

"To leave them alone... nothing, but if you want them to come back with a Guilty verdict... 221C, just your agreement and recommendation, I can make arrangements with Mrs Hudson regarding the rent. What do you think John?" She asked tilting her heard to where John had been hovering nearby he had been about to tell Sherlock that they should head in before he saw who he was speaking with and had decided to listen in. Sherlock moved as suddenly and smoothly as a cobra strike his hand pinning her throat to the wall hard enough to bruise and John was glad the hallway had been abandoned aside from the three of them.

"Sherlock!" John half-shouted, moving forward in a burst.

"If you go near Baker Street, if you so much as lay eyes on Mrs Hudson, I will hunt you down, there will not be a place on Earth where you will be safe." Sherlock said, his voice cold and firm, certain, the deep tones authoritative, though she had noticed the flare of his nostrils and slight dilation of his pupils as he pressed her against the wall.

"Don't worry John, I don't mind a little... roughness." She teased lightly, though he could feel her pulse and she was not as calm as she pretended, she continued when his eyes narrowed warningly. "I won't enter Baker Street until you agree to it, but you will agree to it, sooner or later. I just thought I'd help cut Moriarty's plan off at the start, save us both a lot of trouble." Given his grip it was awkward to shrug but she did it anyway. "But since you aren't interested... yet... I'll leave you to your trial, do try and play nice with the judge Sherlock." After a few long moments John pulled at Sherlock and he allowed himself to be dragged away, as they paused at the doorway into the courtroom and John glanced back she blew him a kiss, only to make him blush and Sherlock turn to glare, she gave him a little wave.

"I never want to lay eyes on you again, I neither want nor need your help." Sherlock said firmly, though less confidently than he had been earlier, it was bugging him that she had said she wouldn't tamper with the jury and they would come back not-guilty, it implied that someone else would, after all they wouldn't do so of their own accord. Moriarty must have something planned, but then how could she know what it was and how to stop it before he could? It was possible he had two people of near comparable intellect to his own to worry about... but it seemed unlikely, after all, aside from his brother Mycroft, there had been very little sign of even a potential match to his skills in all his years, the chances of him running into two such concerns in such a short time was astronomically small, not that he truly considered either of them to be his equal, or Mycroft for that matter, but they did seem significantly closer than precedent might warrant expecting.

It was a few days later, after the trial had proceeded as she predicted and with Sherlock spending a night in jail for contempt of court, that the two children were kidnapped. When they found the children in the candy warehouse, it was with a large basket of food and warm blankets, looking tolerably comfortable considering the place they were being kept in and in no apparent danger... Which was puzzling in itself until Sherlock noticed the candy placed out of reach of the children, and the scattering of candy wrappers near them and noticed the taint to them. But why would Moriarty poison the candy then put almost all of them out of reach of the children?

The text he received as he was pondering the situation explained, but raised as many questions as it answered. Not least of which being how someone had managed to set up a text alert noise of a purring sound.

"I am impressed, you would probably have arrived in time to save them even if I hadn't dropped by... But unlike our mutual acquaintance there are some things I won't risk unnecessarily.

Don't you think our little game would be more fun with one less player? Just say the word. "

Sherlock scowled, how had she gotten here before him, it shouldn't have been possible without working with Moriarty, she didn't have any of the evidence... did she?

"John, you haven't blogged about this between getting the case and arriving here did you?"

"Uh... no... I've been with you."

"I thought so." His frown deepened, there had to be an explanation. Nobody was better at deduction than he was. He had taken the trace evidence of a footprint an found one warehouse in the whole of London, it was the kind of thing only he could have done, and yet she had not even had that much to draw upon for her search. There was the possibility that he had deduced wrongly at the courthouse, that she was in fact working with the consulting criminal... but that didn't seem right either, she had removed the danger but left the children, so she wasn't planning on taking the credit for their rescue and she didn't care for the children more than getting her way but she had still cared enough to do something. It was an odd combination, one that was interesting even as it frustrated him.

It reminded him slightly of how John always made him feel, he could read so much about his flatmate but yet John always found ways to surprise him, particularly that despite it all John stayed, that for all his unpredictability he was also so resolutely reliable. Sophia was unpredictable too, showing up unexpectedly, with knowledge she shouldn't have and sentiment but selfishness, so very different from John in that regard, he was so very selfless.

Of course the police believed Sherlock was behind it when the children started screaming, Donovan and Anderson had always wanted to believe the worst of him. It was actually quite touching that John would stand by him enough to wind up cuffed to his side, it was almost like a bold adventure as they ran down the street, side by side, diving in front of a bus... at least until Sophia pulled up in their path in a van and suggested he hop in, she followed it up by waving a set of lock picks at him temptingly and, quite unfairly, John added a pleading look after having almost been stuck on either side of a fence. Reluctantly Sherlock got in.

"How did you get to the children before us at the warehouse?"Sherlock demanded the moment the door closed as he worked on the handcuffs.

"Good Evening Sherlock, John, it's nice to see you again." She said pleasantly.

"I refuse to believe that you were able to deduce their location before I could and without access to the evidence." Sherlock continued as he finished with the cuffs fairly quickly and began to rub circulation back into his wrist.

"Uh, thanks for the lift, honestly, but you're probably going to have to tell him, he'll only be more irritable than usual until you do." John commented wearily.

"I have a puzzle for you John, a metaphor for how I found the children less than an hour after they were taken. I rather think it might be one thing you'd find easier than Sherlock... Say there is an intelligent man working on solving a complex equation from a text book, you have a copy of the same textbook, how do you ensure you get the answer before him?"

"That's easy, use a calculator." Sherlock commented grumpily, why did she think John would solve it before him? Her response was a smile which seemed to indicate she had expected the response and planned accordingly.

"Your mind works wonderfully fast doesn't it, like a calculator, you could certainly solve the problem faster than anyone else, so, John, how would I get the ANSWER first even if he is using a calculator to SOLVE the problem."

"Look in the back of the book?" John asked, surely it couldn't be that simple, but her laugh and nod, and Sherlock's scowl, indicated it might be... "But Moriarty isn't a text book, you can't just look up the answer."

"And it's cheating." Sherlock added, John shot him a glance that said 'like you wouldn't cheat', he was just being a sore loser.

"Perhaps, but if I played fair I'd lose and I generally prefer to win. So, where do you want me to drop you two off."

Sherlock trailed off the reporter's address, he had to get to the bottom of who was behind the accusatory article in the paper. Yet again Sherlock found himself wondering which side she was on, but then she seemed more interested in helping herself than anyone else, but the things she had already done which did help Sherlock made him doubt she was particularly fond of Moriarty... the woman was a puzzle.

It was a shock seeing Moriarty at the reporters, his fake life in a folder, but it was then that Sherlock realised how it all would end. Moriarty would stop until Sherlock was dead. No until Sherlock destroyed himself... so he planned to stage his death with Molly's help. Unfortunately she had mysteriously gone missing around the same time as John and he hadn't been able to find her, which was worrying. They had set everything up but she wasn't there, she could be anywhere, she must have been taken... His plan was in tatters and all it did was make him more determined as he stood there talking to Moriarty to make him call off his plans, to make him cancel the hit on Sherlock's friends, now that Moriarty had given away that there was a way to recall the killers...

"Nah, you're ordinary, you're ordinary, you're on the side of the angels." Moriarty spoke, the disappointment clear in his tone but underlaid with traces of fear, of the possibility Sherlock could do something, something to make him cave.

"Oh I may be on the side of the angels, but don't for one second think that I am one of them..."

"Everybody wants to be a cat." The phone played, causing a somewhat awkward moment similar to the one they had at the pool, it took Sherlock a moment to realise it was his phone... "Because a cat's the only cat..."

"May I?"

"Go ahead." The pair always seemed to have manners with each other despite the way they treated others and the hatred they bore for one another.

"Who is this?" Sherlock snapped as he answered.

"Ready to accept my help? By the way Molly's with me, when I realised you were bringing Moriarty to you there I thought it best to keep her safely out of his way. All you have to say is 'Yes' Sherlock and I'll take it from there." He recognised the voice, he wasn't sure whether her removal of Molly was for Molly's safety, to remove the option of faking his death or both it was hard to be certain. It was possible he could get Moriarty to call off the hit he almost wanted to do it to prove he could... but it was John, possible wasn't good enough, he would do anything to ensure John was safe.

"Yes."

"Tell Jim 'Deductive Phoenix'. See you soon." She hung up.

"Deductive Phoenix?"

"How?" Moriarty looked furious. "How could you know that?" He moved to raise his gun but he jerked suddenly, his eyes going wide, and though he pulled the trigger Sherlock had already grabbed the hand with the gun in and directed it to fire harmlessly away from them both, there was a second sudden jerk, Sherlock expected to see blood or something from Moriarty having been shot by a sniper, but there was none, and there in his back as he slumped forward into Sherlock's arms, two feathered darts... Sophia had tranquillised him.

It was a few days later, as John and Sherlock were arguing over something Sherlock had said to upset one of the relatives involved in a case, both secretly ridiculously pleased that they could just sit there arguing, that Moriarty was in one of Mycroft's special cells, that his false identity as Richard Brook had disappeared, when Mrs Hudson came up the stairs.

"Sherlock, there's a young woman here, she says she met you on one of your cases and you agreed to be her recommendation for moving into flat 221C..."

"If it's Sophia Thompson then yes, I suppose I did Mrs Hudson."

"I don't know why you don't tell me these things Sherlock. I might have been able to tidy the place up a little..." Mrs Hudson said, shaking her head as she went back downstairs and John and Sherlock exchanged glances, it was probably best not to tell Mrs Hudson how close she'd come to being assassinated but what, if anything, should they say about the woman who prevented it moving in downstairs...


	3. The Fire

I do not own Sherlock or The Cat Who Walked by Himself.

There was a knock on the door, one that Sherlock could recognise as Sophia's. It wasn't hard, she rapped three times in short succession as opposed to the two that Mrs Hudson used.

"Miss Thompson." Sherlock commented to John in a low disgruntled tone.

"Come in." John called cheerfully, he hadn't had to put up with a bored Sherlock in a few weeks, all the time he wasn't on a case he was busy trying to deduce how Sophia had discovered how to get Moriarty's men to stand down... And equally frustratingly, why she had wanted to move into 221C... He swore he'd seen Sherlock going through her trash more than once.

"John, Sherlock, I just wondered if you could give me your opinion on the outfit, there's a gallery opening I was considering attending." She stepped through the door only to spin on the spot, the rich wine coloured silk swirling out from her legs, she looked at John as she stopped.

"Well... It's a lovely dress."

"Oh do stop staring John, it's hardly the first time you've seen a woman in evening wear." Sherlock scowled. "I take it you're planning on working at this event?"

"I did say considering going. There's something of interest there, it just depends whether my client agrees to my terms on the matter... Speaking of terms, if you have the time I'd like to discuss what I'll want next time I help you, either of you, I think I'll put you on a joint plan so to speak."

"I won't need your help and I am perfectly capable of assisting John as necessary, but given what you requested last time I am curious what it is you would ask for." John wasn't fooled, while Sherlock certainly believed what he said about not expecting to need her help he wasn't just idly curious about what she wanted next, he wanted the information to help him figure out her motivations, her reasons, her methods...

"I want to borrow John, as and when I want up to a limit of 24 hours in a given week." She said, her eyes meeting Sherlock's as John's widened and his mouth dropped slightly.

"John is useful in my investigations, not often but often enough to warrant keeping him involved." Sherlock countered, equally matter of factly.

"Thanks Sherlock." John commented in a dead pan, still not sure how to take the way they were talking about him rather than to him.

"You're welcome. Anyway you can't just borrow him when you want, I might need him for an investigation. Also what do you plan to use him for?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed suspiciously and the widening of Sophia's smile wasn't helping matters. There was also a vague feeling, something he didn't like about the idea of them spending time alone together, or around each other in general for that matter, something about the way John looked at her that he couldn't put a finger on... it wasn't the physical attraction, though that was somewhat obvious, Sherlock had never cared that much about John spending time with women before, it was something else...

"How about this, I turn up, I say 'I want to borrow John' you tell me if there's a reason I can't and I take that into consideration but I get the final call, if whatever I have in mind can wait then I'll wait. As for what I'll want him for it might vary, opening pickle jars, helping me with a two person job, whatever it is I promise I'll put him in less danger than you do and return him with a full stomach."

"Now see here, I'm not a car or something that Sherlock can just lend out." John protested, unsure if he should be flattered that Sophia actually wanted him around, and that Sherlock was actually concerned by it, or angry with the pair of them for making decisions about him.

"Done. But as I said you won't be calling it in. I also fail to see how John can be equated with a fire in any case." Sherlock said, condescendingly, Sophia merely smirked.

"Obvious. Because, figuratively speaking, John brings warmth and light to your life, he is your heart, Moriarty knew that, it's why he threatened him. See you later John, have fun at the crime scene Sherlock." She waved before making her way back out the door.

"We're not on a case at the moment." Sherlock responded curtly, she shrugged, glancing over her shoulder at them.

"Give it half an hour, an hour at the most."

John was not surprised when Lestrade called 25 minutes after their little visit from Sophia, though he did smile to himself at Sherlock's frustration, and wonder briefly how it was that she'd known. He hoped that she wasn't involved. She seemed a nice girl most of the time, despite having told Mrs Hudson that she was a flight attendant and disappearing for days at a time with no explanation. She'd even made a cake for Mrs Hudson's birthday last week and insisted on taking the three of them out to dinner, it was a shame he and Sherlock had had to leave after the starters. Of course Sherlock thought it was all an act, and perhaps part of it was, she wasn't nearly as ordinary as she pretended to be, but she didn't have to make the effort to seem normal to keep Mrs Hudson from worrying, and she still did it. Not to mention she'd saved Sherlock's life, that had to count for something.

When Sherlock said that the evidence at the crime scene suggested the woman had been taken from a gala organised by the London Art Appreciation Society almost a week ago, and the best opportunity for observing the members without their knowledge would be at the event planned for the following evening John was surprised but realised he shouldn't have been. It wasn't like Sophia had purposefully mentioned her plans to them before, it would be too much of a coincidence to think that she hadn't been referring to the very event linked to this case... but if that was it why hadn't she contacted the police before this? He frowned deeply enough to get a curious look from Donovan, who was wondering what about a gallery opening had put that dark look on his face.

Sophia had been there at the opening, as she'd said she might, but she didn't speak to them, didn't even go near them, so they focused on their own thing, or at least they did until one of the waiters managed to bump a woman's elbow, causing her to spill her drink all over John. It was while they were separated, as John was in the bathroom cleaning up a little, that they struck, shooting him with a tazer as he was distracted.

By the time he woke up he was tied to a chair in a room which smelled of damp, disorientated. In the long moments of darkness he assessed his position, testing the ropes, but there was no give in them. When the lights did come on they were harsh, blinding. Almost immediately afterwards the door opened and Sophia entered, he was about to shout something when she stumbled, falling to her knees and he realised there was someone pushing her from behind. She cried out girlishly, he doubted the pain was severe enough to gain that sort of reaction from the woman. As he blinked to clear his eyes he realised her hair was disarrayed, a bruise was forming on one cheekbone and the red on her lips was not entirely lipstick, mascara smudged down her cheeks from tears. A flash of concern went through him. Though much of it was likely an act the injuries were very real, he wondered what else they might have done that he couldn't see.

"Quiet!" The large man behind her ordered in a harsh voice, hauling her to her feet by one arm, and from the way she held them John thought it likely they were cuffed behind her, or perhaps tied, they had used ropes on him after all. "Stay there and shut up." He shoved her into the corner nearest the door as she sniffled quietly. "I'm going to have a little talk with Dr Watson here and then you are going to transfer every penny from your accounts to mine, or else we will be having a little talk of our own." The man threatened, heading towards a table Dr Watson hadn't been paying much attention to before and pulling off the cover to show a worrying array of medical tools. "And don't even think about running, my men are right outside and they will shoot you." She let out a small sob, but from behind his back she winked at John, and suddenly he felt better, that things might turn out okay despite how bad they looked right now...

As the large man toyed with a few of the instruments, apparently trying to see if the anticipation would get to John, Sophia slid down against the wall, reaching for something in her shoe perhaps? It would have been hard for John to see from his angle even if he had been watching her properly, and as it was he kept his eyes mostly on the man and his hands. He definitely didn't want to give her plan away before she had chance to carry it out.

"I don't know what you expect to get from me, but I assure you you will regret this." He tried to fill his voice with cold anger, confidence he didn't quite feel.

"I want to know every weakness and scrap of caring in Sherlock Holmes, and then you are going to tell me, in detail, the best ways to destroy him."

The man lifted a scalpel, just as a high heeled shoe smacked into it, sending it flying and Sophia slammed home the lock on the door, keeping his friends outside from interfering. The other heel smashed into his face as he turned to face her disorientating him long enough for her to kick out his feet from under him and kneel on his throat, her hands fending off his attempts to remove her before consciousness slipped away from him. It had all happened so fast, but then combat often did, and John couldn't help but wonder if that was how he looked when he was defending Sherlock, all grace and speed.

"Thanks, but what are you doing here?"

"I should think that would be obvious." She dug about in her bra for a moment. "Bloody uncomfortable things." She added, pulling a small handful of zip ties out. "Almost as bad as the shoes." John noticed the rope in the corner, its freshly cut ends and a small metallic thing next to it. Once she had turned the man over and secured him in an awkward looking, but presumably secure, hogtie with them she stood, turning her attention to John.

"Where did you hide the knife?" He asked. She followed his gaze, went over to it and then retrieved her shoes, showing him the hidden compartment in the platform part under the ball of the foot where the knife had been stowed and replacing it before putting her shoes back on. "Um, could you, perhaps, untie me?" He asked, wondering why she hadn't already, it would have been most people's instinct. It only spoke to how much time he had spent with Sherlock that he had asked about the knife first, curiosity having overshadowed comfort in his priorities.

"I just have to make one little phone call first." She responded, pulling the man's mobile phone from his pocket before sitting herself on John's lap. "You don't mind do you? My feet are killing me and there's no other seats." She tried a wry smile that turned into a wince as it pulled at her split lip, he couldn't help thinking that she'd done this deliberately, allowed herself to be captured and hit to help him, and he shook his head. He tried to pretend he didn't notice that in their current position he had an impressive view of her cleavage and instead concentrating on the injuries.

"You should ice that as soon as possible to reduce the swelling." He commented, feeling silly even as he did so, they were locked in a room goodness knows where surrounded by enemies.

"I will, but first I'd appreciate it if you do me one teensy favour and stay quiet for this call. Otherwise I'm going to have to add to this kinky little tableau and gag you." Her voice was teasing, low, but with a thread of seriousness to it, and despite her playful gaze he knew she wasn't entirely joking, it made him swallow, hard, before nodding. "Good." She dialed the number.

Sherlock was going frantic, John was missing, in calling him Sherlock had only succeeded in finding his phone, which was in the men's room bin. Though he had gathered enough information to know that they were most likely holding him in some form of warehouse and had driven in a black Mercedes Benz Vito, there were far too many warehouses and vans for Sherlock to figure out where they had taken John, or what they might be doing in the meantime. It had been nearly an hour now since that woman had spilled a drink on John, and though he had brought her to tears he was no closer to a solution. Then his phone rang, it was an unrecognised number, so at first he considered letting it ring, wanting to concentrate on the matter at hand, then he thought perhaps it might be someone with ransom demands or something, reluctantly he answered it.

"Who is this?" His comment was terse, accusatory.

"Sophia, I'm on a borrowed phone. I was wondering if you wanted my help in finding John? He has been missing for some time now..." John was about to ask if it was Sherlock on the phone but bit his tongue as Sophia shot him a meaningful glance.

"Don't think I didn't notice you disappeared around the same time." Sherlock responded, his voice hushed, not wanting Lestrade, or heaven forbid Donovan or Anderson, to overhear.

"I won't say that was coincidental, but I didn't kidnap him if that's what you're insinuating. Now do you want my help or not? The people who took him have rather an interesting collection of equipment better suited to an operating theatre than a basement room. I dread to think what they could do to poor sweet John given the opportunity." As she casually spoke into the phone she ran her fingers through John's hair in a way that he'd never admit he actually kind of liked, it was soothing, gentle. "Oh look at that, a bone saw, I wonder what they got that for."

John's eyes slid sideways and he noticed there was actually a bone saw on the table, he let out a little shudder at what might have happened. He knew Sherlock would have found him, he'd always find him, but what might they have done before that? He could have told Sherlock that he was okay, not to agree to anything, but then he took another look at the bruise darkening on her face, and the shallow cut on her wrist where presumably she had been hasty in cutting herself free and figured that perhaps it wouldn't be too bad helping her out sometimes. He'd probably feel like he should anyway after this and it might help if Sherlock saw it as an agreement rather than a distraction.

"Fine, if John is unharmed when I find him I'll consider your part of the bargain fulfilled." Sherlock's voice was dark with anger as he spoke, mostly at the people who had taken John, but partly also at Sophia, she had known something was going to happen and hadn't stopped it, and at himself for not being able to solve this alone and in time.

"I'll do everything in my power to keep John safe until you get here. Bring the police, there's quite a few of them." She rattled off the address before hanging up. "Fun as it could be with you all tied up while we wait for rescue" She purred in his ear, breath tickling lightly before pulling back. "I'll take a look at those ropes now." She slipped from his lap and used a knife from the table to cut the ropes carefully, he found himself missing the warmth and the scent of honey. Not perhaps the most appropriate thoughts for the situation, the last thing he needed while tied to a chair was something else making demands of his circulation.

"He's not going to be happy when he finds out you lied to him." John said as he rubbed feeling back into his wrists, surprised when Sophia knelt to do the same for his ankles.

"I didn't lie. You were kidnapped by people that aren't me, they do have the tools and they could have done terrible things given the opportunity, they even have a bone saw. I just left out the part where I'd removed the opportunity before making the phone call. Would you prefer I'd waited and done it the other way around?"

"No, I suppose not." His blue eyes sparked with humour. "But, uh... while we're waiting, why didn't you stop the kidnapping before I was taken? You could have warned us."

"That would only have driven them deeper into hiding, made it so that next time I might not see them coming. I'm not a mind reader, and, while I won't say it's not fun to pretend, I'm not a great deductionist like Sherlock. If I want to stay ahead of the game I need to play things my own way, use resources that people aren't aware I have."

"Read the answers from the back of the book... but how?" John asked, pressing her slightly for more information, especially as Sherlock wasn't here, he felt she might be more likely to tell him, to let his flatmate wonder but open up to his honest inquiry.

"I had a friend look into hacking into Moriarty's phone the day after you posted about him having had you wired to a bomb. It's part of how I knew about where to get the phone Mycroft wanted. When I saw from the interviews the elder Holmes was having with our evil mastermind just how obsessed he was with Sherlock I saw to it that the same friend was the one he called on to create Richard Brook. Which gave him more than enough opportunity to place a few bugs." She shrugged. "I suppose unlike our beloved consulting detective or the consulting criminal I'm more of a freelance spy with hefty dashes of cat-burglar, and every spy needs her intelligence network, and the odd gadget of course."

"So you were tracking him before you met us, and when you got to the warehouse before us it was because you already knew where Moriarty was taking the children. And this, all of this, you tracked someone else's phone?" John's head was spinning, on the one hand she wasn't a genius like his flatmate, which made sense as there was nobody quite like Sherlock, but at the same time she was definitely brilliant in her own way. And it was not just the lack of female company talking.

"Moriarty's ex-lieutenant..." She gestured to the unconscious man on the floor. "I found out about his plans at the same time as I found out about the first victim but with no evidence and not wanting the police to bungle the capture I needed to wait." She shifted slightly under his gaze. Though her smile was still confident John could see the very slight hint of worry in her eyes, she was waiting for him to respond, to react to her letting him be bait without knowing it, slight tension in her shoulders.

Most people would have been angry, John knew that, and he would have been angry with most people, but somehow he wasn't, not really. Though he did glare slightly before with a slight sigh he smiled, silently accepting her methods. It reminded him a little of when Sherlock had used him as a guinea pig on the Baskerville case, he had been angry, then more angry that Sherlock didn't seem to see the problem with it, then accepted that it was just his way. With Sophia he had missed the middle step, and he was less angry to begin with, she hadn't put him at risk instead of herself, she'd been right there too.

"So now what?" He asked.

"We wait for the police and Sherlock to show up. Speaking of the police I'd rather if we let them think you rescued me rather than the other way around, presuming Sherlock hasn't told them. If you don't mind?" She shivered lightly wrapping her arms about her waist, the chill and the fading adrenaline making themselves known, being a gentleman he would have offered her his jacket, but they had taken that while he was unconscious, he stood, offering her the seat at least. She raised an eyebrow, even if it was the only chair in the room she didn't particularly want to sit in it with the not so mysterious reddish brown stains on and around it.

In the end they sat against the wall, side by side. When the phone rang she handed it to John wordlessly, it was probably Sherlock, but if it was someone else a male voice might cause them to say more or be less suspicious.

"Hello?"

"John, is that you? What am I saying, of course it's you, are you hurt? We have the place surrounded but they won't let me come in with the SWAT team, are you somewhere safe? I don't know these police officers, they might shoot you by mistake." Sherlock's brisk tone almost covered the traces of concern underlying it, but not quite.

"No, no Sherlock, I'm fine, we're in the basement in a locked room. Just tell them not to shoot any women in evening wear or men sitting next to them and I'll be fine. I'll see you soon. Look, about Sophia, she wants us to pretend she's more of an innocent bystander..." John said, though given how calm she looked right now it might be hard to swallow... She seemed to have closed her eyes in thought.

"Yes. Fine." Sherlock hung up, John couldn't help the small smile that crept on his lips... Sherlock had been worried... for all that he claimed to be a sociopath John knew it wasn't entirely true any more.

As John looked at the phone Sophia suddenly shifted, shuffling around to sit almost facing the wall her legs tucked to the side away from John, were those tears? She leaned across him, her arms flung around his shoulders, face buried into his neck, his arms went about her automatically, her breathing rapid and harsh. He patted her back awkwardly.

"Are you okay?" He asked uncertainly, she had seemed so calm he hadn't expected her to break down when it was nearly over...

"I'm trying to concentrate on getting your shoulder wet, crying on demand isn't easy." John was bewildered for a moment before realising that she had clearly thought the same thing he had, that she didn't look like a kidnap victim. The red rimmed eyes would help... though he hated when women cried. It made him intensely uncomfortable, as if he should do something to stop it, to make things better, as if their crying was his fault. He blamed Harry for that a bit, she had been so tough that when she did cry he knew it was something really bad. Even though some women cried a lot easier, some on purpose apparently, he still felt like something terrible was going on. It certainly made it easier getting out of there and home though, the police didn't seem to want to deal with it either, and as all of the gang were already wanted for various crimes Lestrade let them leave with a promise to give him a written statement tomorrow.

Of course the sniggers from Donovan and Anderson about the glare Sherlock was sending Sophia's way as she clung to his now damp shirt was irritating. He wasn't gay for goodness sake! Not that there was anything wrong with being gay but he resented people making assumptions about his love life. Especially as it drove home the fact that he didn't actually have one, but even if he had it wouldn't be any of their business.


	4. Borrowing John

I do not own Sherlock or The Cat Who Walked By Himself.

He had been expecting her knock earlier, after their time spent waiting for the police to come and get them in the basement, but it had been a week and they'd solved another case before she came to their door.

"I want to borrow John."

"You can't we're in the middle of a case. Faked murder suicides of married couples, very important. Could be another any day now."

"You mean the one you solved last night?" Sherlock scowled at Sophia's question. She responded by holding up her phone with John's blog open on it and his scowl deepened.

"Will I be needing my coat?" John asked placidly, wondering if it would be something in her flat or somewhere else. She nodded and he moved to get his things, looking up when Sherlock seemed to move into his way. "We made an agreement Sherlock, or more correctly you did. About me. If anyone has a right to be upset about it then it's me, and I'm not, so you're just going to have to put up with it." He used his reasonable tone, the same one he used to try and get Sherlock to be nice to the victim's relatives. Sherlock finally relented.

"So, where are we going?" He asked, expecting her to hail a cab but instead she linked arms with him and he felt a slight increase in weight in his coat pocket.

"The Beehive."

"The pub down the street?" John asked, surprised, he wondered what they were going there for... "Is there anything in particular I'm supposed to be doing while we're there? Keeping an eye out for someone?"

"Nothing in specific. Just pay for everything from the wallet I just added to your pocket, be your usual charming self and enjoy a nice evening. There's someone who has been a little too persistent and I need him to think I have a boyfriend. Aside from which, you could probably use a little time away from Sherlock every once in a while, not too often but enough." She shrugged.

"So I'm your fake boyfriend? Just... uh... just how... convincing... do you want me to be?" He asked awkwardly. The closeness as they strolled down the street, the scent of her perfume, he couldn't help but feel a little curiosity just how far she wanted him to take things. Though part of him felt slightly dirty that she was using him as a cover another part was guiltily excited by the idea. It had been some time since Sherlock had scared his last girlfriend away and he hadn't tried meeting anyone since so spending time with an attractive young woman was not exactly a hardship. Then again nobody had ever accused John of being less than a gentleman and he didn't want to push things further than she would be comfortable with.

"He only knows Sophia the Air Hostess, not the international woman of mystery. I'll follow your lead Dr Watson, I wouldn't want to put you in an uncomfortable position. Perhaps some hand holding a few pecks on the cheek, feeding each other desert, little things." She raised an eyebrow and he wondered if something had shown on his face. "Unless you want to do more that is?" There was a teasing edge to her tone.

"Uh, no, no that sounds manageable." He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved, but still it was an answer.

It was comfortable talking over dinner, of course Sherlock came up rather more than John would have hoped on most 'dates' but then he didn't feel like he had to avoid any particular topic. They could just chat, even if he wasn't sure how honest she was being. It wasn't until they were halfway through desert, just after he had fed her a bite of apple crumble from his spoon that he asked her something he had been bothering him for a while.

"Why the interest in 221C? In spending time with me? I mean according to Mycroft he gave you diplomatic immunity for helping him, goodness only knows what you could have gotten from someone else for the kind of skills you have. I saw the size of the jewels you were wearing before, you must have more than enough money to buy a place a lot better than 221C."

"Why do you spend so much of your time following Sherlock around? You could have found another flatmate, one who doesn't shoot walls or keep body parts in the fridge, one who was normal, boring. But you're not normal, as much as everyone seems to think you are. You were strapped to a bomb and nearly assassinated to get to him and yet you don't leave. Because you love him."

"Despite what everyone seems to assume I'm not actually gay." John protested irritably, every time, every damn time people seemed to think he was in a relationship with Sherlock.

"Never said you were, I'd figured Bi with a strong preference for women if I'm honest, but I don't like to assume." Sophia responded calmly, clearly it was something that people had brought up before, but seeing how Sherlock and John were around each other that was no surprise. People often assumed that a connection of that depth would be sexual to some extent. "That being said, there are many kinds of love. To put things simply, I wanted 221C because I wanted to observe the pair of you more closely. I am interested in Sherlock because of you, because of your blog, because of Mycroft and his affectionate disdain, because of his mind. I am interested in you because of Sherlock, because of the way you care about him, write about him, follow him to the edge of death and the way it shapes your life. Together you are more than the sum of your parts, and that fascinates me, I was never even slightly tempted to attach myself so much to another human being, so much that my very identity was shaped by..." she was cut off by a soft exclamation from John.

"Bugger." He breathed, seeing Sarah come into the bar, his ex and his boss and here he was sitting rather close to Sophia... not that there was anything wrong with it, they weren't together any more, but it still felt wrong... Sophia's eyes followed his gaze.

"Ex?" He nodded, she shuffled a little closer to John, fingers trailing along his thigh to cause his eyes to dart to her in surprise. "Concentration John, keep your focus on me." Though she withdrew her hand her point had been made. "She will either notice you or not but she doesn't need to know you give one hoot either way that she's here, that can be our little secret." She teased gently, her tone friendly but with enough of a flirty undertone to cause John to shift slightly, awkwardly. "It's all up to you John, we can leave if you want? We made my point, but if you want to stay and step things up a little for her benefit then that is perfectly fine with me." He was tempted, but he had to work with Sarah, not very often these days as he only filled in for other doctors, but still, indulging in childish urges to make her jealous wouldn't help anyone. But he didn't have time to say so.

"John, I uh, I wasn't expecting to see you here. Malcolm lives just down the road at number 67..." She commented, more information than was needed in an attempt to clarify that their meeting was, in fact, a coincidence...

"We live the other direction at 221." Sophia commented with a smile, breaking the uncomfortable silence, but making the tension worse with her use of 'we' it was deliberately ambiguous.

"With Sherlock?" Sarah asked, surprise and shock in her tone, she couldn't imagine John leaving Sherlock or vice versa. The woman living with the pair of them, putting up with the consulting detective and his demands on John's time was nearly as impossible to visualise.

"Yes, they're always running off on cases together, it's kind of sweet." Again Sophia left it open to interpretation, and John felt mildly guilty but was wondering how far Sarah's assumptions could be stretched.

"You might want to be careful, John is a wonderful guy but Sherlock has a nasty habit of getting the people around him into... sticky situations." Sarah warned her in a somewhat sour tone. "I was nearly killed on a date with John that Sherlock involved himself in."

"You were kidnapped too?" The casual and curious tone caused Sarah's eyes to bug out even more and Malcolm was looking decidedly out of his depth at the direction the conversation had taken. "I suppose that was why you broke up?" She looked between Sarah and John with eyes that little bit too wide and innocent, and John struggled to keep a straight face, he should probably stop this...

"Uh, Sophia, this is Sarah, as you can tell she's my ex, she's also my boss at the doctor's practice where I fill in sometimes when they need extra staff. Sarah this is Sophia, she lives in 221C, downstairs..."

"I work for British Airways as a flight attendant." Sophia added, extending her hand to the other woman. John was glad she had said it for him, he was no good at lying. "I just got back from Milan and there was nothing tempting in the cupboards, besides which I'm a terrible cook, but I hate dining out by myself, don't you? John was kind enough to come with me, he's such a gentleman." Her soft smile and the hand resting briefly on his shoulder was flirtatious but not dramatically so, neither overly familiar nor uninterested, a perfect balance. "I guess I just must not scare so easy, or I would have moved out by now... but then I worked a flight the day after those hi-jackings in America, boy was everyone on edge. Then there was that one time there was a malfunction and we had to land in the Republic of the Congo..." He had to admire the ditzy act she was putting on, it seemed like something she'd done before and was very different from what he'd seen of her so far. "Oh but gosh, I had something I planned to do this evening, and look it's gone nine, which means my friend in Washington D.C. will be going home soon. I'll have head off if I want to catch them at the office. Thank you so much John, you can stay here if you want, I'll walk myself home if you want to talk with your friends?"

"No, it's fine, I'll see Sarah on Saturday anyway, I'm covering for Dr Blake, just let me pay for this and I'll be right back."

"You don't have to..." She paused, appearing to read his face, though mostly he was hoping to hide the thought that it was her money anyway and that she had told him to pay for them using it... "Thanks." The affection and appreciation in her tone causing him to look down awkwardly before hurrying off. It wasn't long before they were strolling back to 221, laughing companionably about Sarah's reactions.

"So why a flight attendant?" He asked.

"Because on occasion I actually do work as one, much the same as you work as a Doctor when we both know it's something you do sometimes not who you are, not any more. You're Sherlock's blogger. Which actually seems to be more about being a bodyguard, minder, muse and PR rep than your standard blogger. Speaking of being a Doctor, and a flight attendant, could you get me some diazepam? Quite a bit of it actually. I'm off to Moscow next Thursday and I need it for the return trip."

"You're joking right?" There was a pause. "You're not joking... you actually... and you want me to get you valium? Are you... are you going to drug someone?" John asked incredulously.

"Yes, much better than trying to use a gun on an plane, ricochets and explosive decompression both being possibilities. Problem?" Her lips tipped up in a smirk. "Oh and some flumazenil, in case I accidentally use too much, I won't but it's better to be safe than sorry right?" She raised an eyebrow waiting for his reaction.

"Erm..." He took a deep breath, letting it out sharply. "Fine." He wasn't sure how he felt about procuring it for her, it was a restricted substance after all. But if he didn't... he didn't think that she'd think twice about procuring it on the black market, at least this way it would be clean and of a set concentration.

"Thanks." She said as he opened the door, only to hear Sherlock stomping down the stairs.

"Are you finished now?" He demanded of Sophia grumpily.

"Sherlock, we were only gone for..." John looked at his watch. "Two and a half hours. I've gone on holiday without you noticing before, what's all this about? Did Lestrade call?"

"No." Sherlock continued to glare at Sophia.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into him." John apologised, he always seemed to be apologising for Sherlock's behaviour.

"It's quite all-right, and very interesting. I can't help but hypothesise about what the reasons might be." She winked at Sherlock, making him scowl even more. "Goodnight John, I'll see you later, if you could remember what I asked you for?" She had a soft knowing smile that John didn't really like but he simply nodded.


	5. Understanding

I do not own Sherlock.

It was interesting the variety of things that Sophia 'borrowed' John for. He had helped to re-paint her room, stitched up a rather nasty gash on her thigh, injected her arm half a dozen times to fake track marks, goodness only knew why, but the strangest thing was that even if there was no real reason she would still drop by sometimes and collect him. It was nice, a break, even if he couldn't quite work out what the little trips were exactly. They were things which people seldom did alone, things he missed a little since Sherlock seldom wanted to do something so 'trivial', like going to the cinema or the zoo. It could just be that she needed someone to share them with, at the same time though he thought she might like spending time around him as much as he did her. They were interrupted occasionally by various murders but he never had to apologise for it, she never made him feel bad about leaving. There was even the one time she got a text and had to hurry off.

It felt comfortable, like when he'd been in the army and spending time with the other medics. One or more of them might be called away at any moment to deal with an emergency but nobody took it personally and they just enjoyed a little breathing space away from the action. John needed action, danger, he craved it, but this didn't feel like normality and routine it felt like a break, a chance to regather before diving back in, to enjoy the simple things without being restricted to them. He had almost started to think of her as a safe and sane escape from Sherlock's world, which of course was when he was reminded that she was very much a part of that world, and that their meetings were likely as much a break for her as for him. They'd been called to a strip club.

"I just want to know why someone who was wearing a diamond the size of my thumb the last time I saw her is working here." Donovan was complaining.

"That's an exaggeration, the largest I was wearing was a two carat, that's barely the size of your little finger nail... Oh wait, you're a bit of a nail chewer aren't you, maybe your thumb nail then." John recognised the voice even before turning the corner. Given the location he should probably have been less surprised by her outfit, or mostly lack thereof, it was more like underwear than clothing.

"Oh my God, Sophia? You must be freezing! You couldn't have gotten her a blanket?" He asked Donovan on impulse before she turned to face him and he saw the blood spatter across her, and the red hand prints on her chest and abdomen. He dragged his eyes away, not wanting to stare. He pulled off his coat to offer it to her but she didn't take it.

"Evidence, they took pictures and swabs but I wanted to wait for Sherlock. Thank you for the concern though John, the crime scene's through there. Do you mind if I observe? I haven't seen Sherlock in action yet." The question was directed to Lestrade who had come through the door to meet them, though she barely glanced over her shoulder, facing Sherlock as his eyes slid over her.

"You want to observe the investigation of a murder you're the prime suspect for?" Donovan asked incredulously before turning to John. "And I thought the freak was bad, you have really weird taste in friends."

"She isn't the murderer." Sherlock said authoritatively. "Just look at the pattern of the blood, it was clearly aspirated aside from the blood on her hands and knees and that of the hand prints, the former coming from kneeling by him and trying to stem the flow, most likely from a wound to the throat?" He glanced to Lestrade for a small nod before continuing. "And the latter was placed there by victim who, for some reason, attempted to push her away."

"Some are born weird, some achieve weirdness and some have weirdness thrust upon them. I know the quote usually refers to greatness but honestly I find there's rather a lot of overlap. As for comparing me to 'the freak', assuming you mean Sherlock, I take it as quite the compliment." Sherlock cocked his head slightly at her statement, blinking, and he had thought John was the only person who really appreciated his 'weirdness'. He took a few long moments looking at her face, not for the case this time but assessing her. He found her disturbingly difficult to read aside from the emotion in her eyes directed at him, it was very like the way John looked at him. No, on greater consideration it was very like the way John looked at her, admiration, respect and affection but mixed with physical attraction. There was never physical attraction in the way he looked at Sherlock, which was perhaps for the best.

John showed many people respect, even affection, though he showed more of that to Sherlock than most. Sherlock had little respect for the women John tended to have attraction to but he had identified the variable that had caused him to feel so threatened by Sophia's presence, the admiration. John delighted in Sherlock's brilliance, not just toleration or finding it useful, he accepted him for who he was, not what he could do for him, and admired him. Sophia could offer him danger the same way Sherlock could. But now she offered him that same look, one that upon reflection he could recall her giving John, John of all people.

She borrowed John. 'Borrowed', of course, that implied an intention to return said item, or in this case person, a subtle acknowledgement of ownership as well. And despite demanding his presence and attention at times she didn't intrude the rest of the time, there were no distracting texts, no questioning John leaving their meetings when Sherlock called with a case. It had been just over two months since she'd begun to claim a portion of John's time and yet she had never tried to separate them, to try and get John to care for Sherlock less in order to care for her more, encouraging both attachments.

"I've seen enough. Your coat will be somewhat insufficient John." Indeed it would have barely reached her thighs as Sophia and John were nearly the same height, though in her current heels she looked quite a bit taller. It was then that Sherlock realised that almost every time Sophia had come for John she had been in flat shoes, or low heels of an inch or two that would put her at the same height as John, though when away from them or working she clearly chose her shoes differently, consideration for his possible sensitivity about his height? Sherlock shrugged out of his own coat, ignoring the small frown of surprise on John's face, and the near imperceptible widening of Sophia's eyes as he handed it over. "If we're done standing around accusing the witness can I see the crime scene? Please remain quiet until after I've finished my observations." He commented to Sophia, Lestrade let out a heavy sigh, gesturing for the three of them to go through, he shouldn't let her on the crime scene but protocols tended to shatter in the presence of the consulting detective.

Sherlock took in the scene quickly but thoroughly, his eyes taking in every detail and his mind flying, perhaps even faster than usual with Sophia there, which was something to analyse later. It felt similar to the first time he had brought John on a case with him, the urge to impress and the surge of focus. "The killer was a man, just over six foot and very muscular, broad in the shoulders, Asian, associated with the Red Tigers. The victim was behind on his payments for the drugs he deals here. The killer wore gloves, he was careful and professional. He had a gun but didn't use it. He didn't know about the hidden cameras, possibly because the victim didn't know about them. Why didn't you tell the police that you had footage of the attack? Perhaps because there are only transmitters here and the recording is stored somewhere else, you don't want the police visiting that location especially while they still considered you a suspect and might be inclined to search it."

"If you have evidence you have to give it to us." Lestrade said to Sophia, but she was focused on Sherlock who span to face her. A smile quirked her lips, but it wasn't just his words, she had noticed the shift in his opinion of her. How observant.

"Explain your working, you know you want to..." She lifted an eyebrow. "Impress me." She purred the challenge in a way that made John and Lestrade feel almost uncomfortable just hearing it, there was something sensual about the deep tone. She stepped closer to Sherlock as she spoke, feet quiet despite the heels, a slow prowl. Sherlock couldn't quite identify the tight feeling low in his stomach, it was unfamiliar, perhaps something he had eaten, unpleasant. The flutter in his chest, the urge to show off, however was more commonplace, he often felt it, but usually it was strongest with John, this was the same, odd.

"The angle of the knife wound tells me his approximate height, the knife struck the collarbone, scoring it deeply, which tells me he was muscular. These cuts here, above the eye, they're deliberate. Though they look like signs of a struggle, anyone who knows what to look for can read the symbol for debtor, Chinese. The Red Tigers run the drugs for this area, they wouldn't have sent an outsider, so Asian. You heard the attack, you would have had to to get here in time for him to still be alive to aspirate on you, yet you didn't try keep the killer from leaving, that tells me he had more than a knife, a gun then. There's a small red smear on the door handle, the other side from where you gripped it, it was almost smooth with slight skin pattern, but not fingerprints, so leather gloves. Not to mention he's a professional why wouldn't he wear gloves? There's a small camera hidden in that picture frame, it's new, everything else on that shelf has at least a month's worth of dust. This has been added to an existing frame, rather expertly, if it was him installing it then why not simply buy a frame with the camera built in from the beginning? You put it there." He finished, taking in the look that she was giving him he added confidently. "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing, John's expressed that thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

"Really?" She asked, now standing directly facing him, barely inches between them, only having to look up the slightest trace.

"Really." He responded, meeting her gaze squarely his eyebrow lifting, returning to her the challenge she had given him, his eyes silently saying 'Impress me.' Her hand moved, fast as a cobra strike, and he steeled himself for a blow, unwilling to flinch from it. Though he couldn't see why she would do it, sentiment perhaps? What she did was even less understandable. Her fingers threaded into his curls at the nape of his neck, gripping hard and he couldn't help but think of how the dried blood on her hands was unsanitary. Then her lips were on his and he couldn't seem to think at all, for the first time in his life there was nothing but the moment itself and the sensation of softness. It was over as quickly as it began.

"If, as they say, Smart is the new Sexy." She commented gently, but loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as a small part of him was busy noticing the width of her pupils, the tingle in his lips. His eyes dropped to her lips as she continued, he berated himself for the weakness but they drew his gaze like a magnet. "Then that was the kind of speech that would leave lesser women screaming and desperately craving a cigarette." Her hand slipped from his neck to rest against his chest over his heart. That was when he realised his hands had made their way about her waist at some point during the mental freeze she had caused. He could only imagine what his pulse might be doing beneath her fingertips, and how he must look. He pulled back, releasing her, moving away from her despite his instincts and he pulled his usual coldness about him, slipping over his features. "Has John ever expressed it like that?"

"No." Sherlock cleared his throat. "No he hasn't."

"Well I was cheating a little, I think some of that was French." She smirked again and his eyes flickered to her lips one more time before a frown crossed his face. She pivoted to face John and Lestrade, who weren't quite sure what to say. "Oh do stop staring John, if you were even remotely interested in guys you'd have done the same thing by now after a speech like that and we both know it. If I needed proof that you aren't gay, rather than simply believing you, that would be it. Do you mind if I go home now Detective Inspector? You'll need to liaise with the organised crime branch about the killer and his friends. I'll deliver the footage to the station in an hour or two, once I've showered and dressed in something a little less borrowed and a little more... substantial." She gestured to the coat.

"Fine..." Lestrade growled, he hated having to deal with Organised Crime. And that... display... at a crime scene? How exactly was he supposed to react to that? "You two may as well go home as well. But I want that tape in my office before I have to come looking for it." He received three nods in reply.

"What happened to your lipstick?" Donovan asked as Sophia strode out of the room and past where she still stood in the corridor. "Did you throw up?" She snickered slightly.

"No." Sophia responded but kept walking for the door.

"Don't ask." John said as he followed, just before she saw Sherlock's face.

"Oh my God! You kissed the Freak? At a crime scene?"

"Oh do shut up Donovan." Sherlock snapped. "Go... phone his brother or something." He added, gesturing dismissively. None of the trio even slowed down, heading straight for the road and managing to get hold of a taxi rather more easily than might be expected considering one of the group was nearly wearing only a coat and still had reddish brown stains on her hands. She kept them mostly hidden, and the flecks across her face almost looked like freckles if you didn't look too closely.

"So." John broke the silence after a few long minutes. "Snogging at the crime scene?"

"Not good?" Sherlock asked, with a frown.

"A bit not good, yeah."

"But Sophia started it." He protested.

"I did. When someone does something brilliant it's appropriate to show approval." Sophia said firmly. "It's not appropriate to do it in front of grieving relatives but you and the Detective Inspector are used to Sherlock, who I am sure has done worse. If I'm honest I think most of the problem is that you think you should be upset about it." Really John couldn't argue with that... it was true, it hadn't upset him. It merely discomfited him and Lestrade, but no more than they would have been watching the same interaction anywhere else. Which was strange, considering how much time he'd spent with Sophia, how he felt about her and how protective he felt of Sherlock, surely it should have upset him more? If anything he hadn't felt jealous so much as left out, that the intensity of their staring at each other had left him sidelined. Both of the other two watched him as his thoughts flitted across his face.

"If you want to kiss her I certainly don't mind, and there's no dead body." Sherlock's statement drew him an odd look from the taxi driver. "I admit I have little basis for comparison but I think she was rather skilled at it." He added, with a slight puzzled look as he studied John's reaction.

"Sherlock!" John responded, you didn't just... suggest people kissed each other. "I..."

"Learned Helplessness." Sophia commented quietly, earning her piercing stares from both men. "If you keep scaring off all his girlfriends, sooner or later he's going to stop trying." She shrugged, addressing her comment to Sherlock. "I gave him permission to kiss me two months ago, he's had every opportunity, in much less awkward circumstances."

"I don't see why he hasn't then, he's clearly attracted to you." The surreal feeling was growing as Sherlock weighed in on John's love life, especially when he hated everyone John was interested in. He'd hated Sophia until earlier that day. "Just look at his pupils. Not to mention every time he comes back from one of your longer meetings he spends an extra quarter-hour in the shower the following morning."

"You..." John's interjected, spluttering at the idea that Sherlock had not only noticed, then again he noticed bloody everything, but actually mentioned his 'alone time'. Then he paused, she had given him permission to kiss her... "At the beehive?" Sophia's smirk answered him. "Huh." Their arrival at the flat ended the conversation there however.

"I really need a shower." Stretching Sophia climbed out of the cab, the moment for the discussion had passed. "Do you want me to dry clean this before I return it?" She gestured to coat.

"No I have a dry cleaner I like to use. Just bring it up some time this evening." Sherlock reached into the pocket of the coat as they stood in the hallway, retrieving his phone and was tapping something into it before he and John had even reached their living room. John sighed, things were always more complex around Sherlock, then again at least he was very seldom bored, now if he could just figure out Sherlock's sudden change in attitude...


	6. The Milk of Human Kindness

I do not own Sherlock. Also I haven't been to Hyde Park, so if my descriptions don't quite fit with the truth then please don't get too caught up in the details. I've been struggling with writers block a lot lately (which is why I haven't updated my other stories) but I already had half of this chapter and almost all of the next (and last) chapter written, it's just taken me a while to finish the second half of this.

Sherlock was missing. The door had been broken open, Mrs Hudson was looking about in bewilderment and Sherlock was missing. He had met up with Mrs Hudson on the corner as she made her way back from visiting a friend and he returned from getting the milk. Again. Sherlock never bothered to go and get it. Sherlock, who was missing. John's mind kept circling back to it in almost panic. Fingers shaking John call Lestrade. The police would be there shortly, but John couldn't just stand there doing nothing. They called on Sherlock's brilliance because they couldn't match it, if he was missing who could really be relied on to find him? John? Sophia...?

Had she been here? Was she hurt? Had she been taken too? John pounded on the door to 221C but it remained resolutely locked. Perhaps she had been out as well... the attackers had chosen their time carefully it might make sense that they'd waited until everyone was out aside from Sherlock. He went to ring her, only to realise that they hadn't actually contacted each other by phone, she'd always just dropped by or texted Sherlock. He dug through his wallet, finding the card that she had given him so long ago in Buckingham Palace, typing the numbers into his mobile.

"Hello John, I'm... somewhat preoccupied at the moment. Is it urgent or can I call you back?" She had recognised his number, despite never having used it to contact her so far... the thought was quickly shuffled aside. She was safe, or at least reasonably so. She might have commented just as calmly if she'd been taken as well but not if the captors might overhear. Though it did sound like she was whispering.

"Sherlock's missing." There was a quiet clink in the background and a rustling. John couldn't help but wonder what she was doing, but it wasn't important.

"Missing." She took a deep breath, sighing as if she had decided something. Then there was a sudden sound of an alarm in the background and it sounded like she was running. "I'm on my way." Gunshots added to the chaos. "I'll ring you when I'm in the air." The line clicked off... air? Where was she? But then she'd done something on the way back from Moscow before. He hoped she wasn't that far away this time, even in a private jet it'd take hours to get back from there. He also hoped that he hadn't caused any problems by ringing when he did. The last thing he wanted was both of them to be in trouble.

She called him back even before Lestrade arrived. There was a crackling to the tone and a thrumming pounding sound of a helicopter. "John. Are you okay? Mrs Hudson?"

"We're fine. They just took Sherlock. The door is broken, there's a small amount of blood on the floor, but not much." John stood in the flat, ignoring the fact that it was a crime scene and he should probably wait for the police to arrive. He was trying to see even one of the things Sherlock would have been able to deduce from the room. "Whoever took him moved fast, I was only at the corner shop for ten minutes or so."

"Okay, John I will be there soon. I don't suppose you think this might count as the third thing I do for you two boys? We can discuss the terms?" He was shocked by the casual way she asked the question.

"You... you'd honestly refuse to help on this? Sherlock's missing!" He shouted at the phone.

"Of course I wouldn't refuse John. I've already turned a delicate operation into a smash and grab and I'm checking the video footage of the front of the flat on my laptop as we speak, but you can't blame a girl for asking." There was mild reproof in her tone, John was still angry but he wasn't sure how much of that was really fear about Sherlock. He was about to apologise when she cut him off. "One blue van, got the license plate but I'm not sure if it's real, I'm running it now. There's three men, one limping on the way out but not on the way in so I guess Sherlock didn't go easily. Sherlock seems okay apart from being unconscious... I hope. I'll see what I can get on them too. I've set Mycroft's system to tracking the van."

"You can do that?" Mycroft had an impressive network, he'd be very surprised if she could hack into it. "Or were you able to contact him on the phone, he didn't answer when I rang him."

"I got my Login and password the day we met. In return for the phone. It's been very helpful." She seemed slightly distracted. "I'll meet you in Hyde Park next to the Serpentine Cafe. Bring the black duffle bag with the blue handles just inside the door of my flat." The briskness of her tone was a little reassuring but the location...

"It's nearly ten o'clock, the cafe will be closed. Not to mention it's dark, are you sure that's a good place to meet?" John asked.

"I'm well aware of that, but I'm in a helicopter... where would you suggest? Just bring me the change of clothes okay? If Mrs Hudson won't let you in, or you don't want to ask her, I hid a spare key in the top of your bedroom door." She hung up before he could respond. She hid a key in his bedroom door? When had she done that? And why there?

Shaking his head slightly he headed upstairs, he felt along the top of both sides of his doorway but didn't find anything. Grabbing a chair he stood on it to look. There was no sign of anything on the doorway but he noticed a small scrape in the paint, something on the top of his door must have rubbed it slightly. He turned from the doorway to the door itself and there it was painted white and almost invisible, masking tape. Ripping it off carelessly it pulled the small empty film tub up with it out of the hole it had been nested in. The thick wood of the door having allowed her to hollow out a cavity for it. It held two keys and a folded piece of paper, padded with cotton wool to prevent them rattling as the door moved. How long had these been there?

One was the key to 221C, the other looked like a safety deposit box key, but he didn't have time for that at the moment. He put it and the piece of paper in his pocket, he'd look at them later. He wondered if Sophia had hidden any other things in their flat... It was a little disturbing. He'd have to ask Sherlock about sweeping for bugs again, usually they didn't bother sweeping John's room as Mycroft was the only person they expected to plant any and he was only interested in Sherlock. Thinking of Mycroft, how could he contact the elder Holmes? He needed to know, and maybe he could help. He'd ask Sophia about it. For the moment he needed to get out of there before the Police arrived. He hurried downstairs again.

He had been in her flat before, but usually there weren't those bags there just inside the door. Well there had been the one time, when she had been injured, there'd been a pile of bags there then as well. Did she always have them there when she left on one of her jobs and put them away again when she returned? They were all black and nondescript aside from the handles which each had a different colour thread braided around them. There were three duffles, two backpacks a satchel and a clutch purse. He was very tempted to look in the purse. Clearly these were emergency plans, ways out, what could fit in such a small bag for that purpose? Despite knowing she'd been in his room without his knowledge he resisted, taking the bag she'd asked for and touching nothing else.

"Sorry Mrs Hudson, I don't think I can stay." He said as he passed her on the way out.

"Of course dear. I understand. I'll wait here for the police."

"Thank you Mrs Hudson." He patted her hand gently. "You have my number if they find anything or you need me." He felt terrible just leaving her there, standing in the hallway alone... but Sherlock was missing. His mind kept cycling back to it.

It was dark as he headed into the park. The area she'd mentioned was quiet, deserted. He'd just started to feel the cold when he heard a helicopter overhead, though it was just a dark shape. There was a quiet splash in the lake, then another one, the sound almost hidden in that of the helicopter's blades, and then it left. Had Sophia jumped out of the helicopter into the lake? In the silence that fell he could hear her swimming closer before he saw her face, small in the water. She was pushing something ahead of her, like those swimmers who used floats at the pool. He hurried forward to help her from the water, only to blush despite the chill of the air when she stood in the shallows and he realised she wasn't in a swimsuit. She was wearing underwear. Rather lacy underwear. He spun around.

"Much as I appreciate you respecting my modesty. You're a doctor I'm sure you've seen it before and I'm freezing." He could hear the shivers in her voice. "Could you get my towel out the bag?" Feeling self-conscious he opened the duffle, worrying about finding his way through such a large bag, only to see a big thick towel was the top thing in there. She pushed what he could now see was a waterproof bag with floats up onto the grass. She practically dove into his arms as he held up the towel, but all things considered it wasn't surprising. She needed to be warmed up fast and he used his hands to rub the towel against her to help her dry faster and warm up. "I'm glad you wore your jumper." She pulled away abruptly, kneeling by the bag and rifling through it to pull something out. "It'll hide this nicely." A bullet proof vest... She was handing him a bullet proof vest. Or rather she threw it at his feet, her focus still on the bag as she pulled out more clothing.

Eventually he'd gotten it sitting right and pulled his jumper back on, which took longer than expected as the jumper tried to stick to the Velcro fastenings, a problem he hadn't had to deal with in the army. She'd gotten more than halfway dressed in the meantime. There was more leather involved than he'd expected. Then again he should have stopped trying to predict what Sophia might wear at any given time after they ran into her at the strip joint, or maybe after they had ended up chasing a criminal into the airport and she'd been there in her uniform with a matching overnight case. The leather trousers clung to her figure until they reached the knee where they subtly flared, not enough to draw attention, but enough to let her wear boots under them. She was tightening the laces on what looked like a cross between a corset and a waistcoat in brocade, high collared but tight to her curves. A leather coat waited for her to put it on, laid over the bag. The whole effect was somewhat bad-ass steampunk.

She glanced at him then bent in a manner that he was sure was deliberately provocative to stuff the towel back in the bag and zip it up, tossing it at him to carry before grabbing her buoyant backpack. "Come on John, we don't want to keep Mycroft waiting." She strode out the park without a backward glance and John hurried to keep up. Sure enough a familiar black car was waiting near the exit for them.

"I take it that you will be expecting the third thing you asked of me for Sherlock's safe return." Mycroft remarked coolly as they slid onto the seats. "While I am not certain a single person would warrant such measures ordinarily, we both know Sherlock is seldom ordinary."

"Actually I was going to ask John's agreement on the third thing I will ask of him and Sherlock." Sophia responded and Mycroft glared at John as if it was his fault that they had gone through two already. Sophia had pulled a laptop from the rucksack she'd had in the lake, which was dry as a bone thanks to the waterproofing, and opened it, her fingers moving over the keyboard.

"And what might that be?" Mycroft asked. Sophia merely responded by raising an eyebrow. "The warm milk, I know that much. I won't have you dragging my brother into anything without his agreement."

"He agreed for John, as John protested the matter in fact, I see no reason John can't agree over something I want Sherlock to do." She smiled at Mycroft. John opened his mouth to point out he didn't actually know what she was talking about yet only for her to lean close and whisper in his ear. "Three good deeds a week, one small, one medium, one large. He can choose what and when, you can judge what counts. Making you a cup of tea after a hard day at work would be small, setting up a system to keep food and body parts separate would be large. They can be for you, me, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson... anyone. But they can't be involved with his great work. He has to do them for the other person or people not himself." She pulled back, offering her hand for him to shake on it. "The warm white milk of human kindness, three times a week for always and always and always."

They stared at each other for several long moments. Mycroft was watching. John could refuse, but that would make her look bad in front of Mycroft, especially if she went ahead with helping anyway. Really she wasn't asking that much and Sherlock had bartered with John's time casually enough. He grinned, it would be nice if Sherlock could stop keeping body parts in the fridge, or at least make sure they didn't leak all over his trifle. If Sherlock had a problem with it then he doubted either of them could really force him to do anything he didn't want to. John shook Sophia's hand firmly, earning another scowl from Mycroft.

"Wonderful, now can we get to the business of rescuing my brother?"

Sherlock woke to find himself very uncomfortable. His head throbbed, the handcuffs holding his wrists behind the chair were too tight and his mouth tasted of not entirely clean sock. He tried to spit the offending object out but it didn't work. Straps were holding it and his head in place. It took a little effort to get his eyes to focus, but once he had he could study the people who had taken him. He had to find a way out, he had no idea where he was and who knew if anyone would be able to find him, these fellows seemed to be professionals. He doubted they would have left many clues.

There were four of them in the room, busying themselves with weapons. There were another two on patrol outside and a leader who was in the next room on the phone. She was the only one of them wearing heels, they clicked on the wooden floor as she paced. Eventually she entered the room, slipping the phone into a small handbag as she did so. The woman was surprisingly difficult to read, he could tell the nationality of each of the others in the group, including those on patrol but it wasn't until she spoke that he knew she was British.

"The great Sherlock Holmes." She strode toward him. "At last we meet. I had expected to meet you some time ago, but I've been told a mysterious cat prevented it." She stepped close, running a finger along his jaw below the strap that cut into his cheek. She had dark hair which matched the black of her dress and bright red lips. "Before I turn you over and the real questioning begins, I want to know about that cat. Who is she?" The woman wanted to know about Sophia? She loosened the strap holding the sock in place and removed it raising an eyebrow at one of the men as she held it up. He shrugged with a smirk. The Irishman found it amusing, the woman did not. "That's better." She softly moved a stray curl from his eyes.

"You made a mistake by taking me." He stated, more confidently than he felt. She was threatening torture, she wanted him to be afraid. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction, his fear would be unlikely to discourage her. Not that he truly felt as afraid as most ordinary people would feel in such a position. He still had his wits.

"Look at those cheekbones, I could cut myself hitting that face. Would you like me to try?" She was flirting with him. He was tied to a chair and she was flirting with him. He raised an eyebrow, keeping his face as calm as ever as his thoughts raced. John would be looking for him. If he could trust anyone to rescue him, no matter what, it would be John. He'd have nothing to go on, but he'd find him, he had to. How long would it take? What should he do in the meantime? The woman was attractive, and clearly used to using her sexuality to get her way. In that way she reminded him of Sophia. He wondered if she would help John come for him, she seemed to have the appropriate skill set.

"No, but then I didn't want you to abduct me either so I doubt it will stop you." He responded still struggling to deduce the first thing about her.

"Perhaps, perhaps not." She smiled, it was mildly disconcerting. "Tell me about the cat. She took something that belonged to me, I want to know who she is." Sophia had taken something from her, was all this a way to get at her, he felt somewhat offended, that he was kidnapped over someone else, people got kidnapped because they knew him not the other way around. "Don't pout, I have someone dying to meet you, I just want a few answers first."

"You are delayink delivery to ask about kitty cat? Vot has she taken? Gold mouse?" Sophia strode through the doors, speaking with a heavy Russian accent. "I haff come to collect detective man, tall with curly hair, this is him da? And vhy are there not guards outside?" There were two out there, Sherlock assumed this was her way of letting him know they'd been dealt with. She walked up to where he was seated, entirely ignoring the guns pointed at her by some of the others in the group.

"There are. Wilson and Jones." The woman said with a frown. "Petrov, why don't you have a chat with your countrywoman while we try and find out where the others went.

"Ona dumayet, chto ya ne russkiy? Yest' milliony rossiyan , ona dolzhna byt' kakaya-to idiotom, chtoby dumat' , chto sposobnost' govorit' na yazyke budet nichego dokazyvat' ispol'zovaniya." Sherlock had no idea what Sophia had just said in her derisive tone of voice but it made the large Russian laugh and shrug and the way she said it so fluidly and without hesitation would almost have fooled even him into thinking her a native speaker. "I vas told the detective has only one friend, short man who vears many jumpers and carries gun. I carry gun but otherwise description seems different." She rested a hand on her hip to emphasise her curves as she smirked at the woman. "If jumper man shows up I shoot him. Right in stupid jumper." She shrugged and Sherlock's blood ran cold at the thought, John being shot... she wouldn't.

{She thinks I am not Russian? There are millions of Russians, she must be some kind of idiot to think that being able to speak the language will prove anything of use.}

"I was supposed to deliver him tomorrow." The woman complained with a frown.

"Boss said he does not want you breaking toy, he break toy. I take detective man now." She bent to untie the straps holding Sherlock to the chair, though made no move to remove the handcuffs. "Tell him if is problem." The woman pulled her phone from her bag, pressing a button before frowning.

"That's odd, I was talking with my banker not five minutes ago." She frowned, they must have activated a jammer.

"Let Sherlock go! The police are on their way." John shouted, stepping into the doorway, the loud bang made him jump and then John was falling, his mouth open and gasping and Sherlock couldn't breathe. He tugged forward to run to John but he was yanked back roughly, a barrel pressed into his back, still hot from being fired.

"Stupid Jumper man. If is true police are on way ve must clear place quickly. I take detective, you get money. You have plan for get rid of body? Is room in car, if your people carry." She was so calm... and John was so still... there was blood all over his jumper but... was he still breathing? Shallowly enough that the others might not see it, John wasn't dead. He still couldn't tell if she'd really shot him but he wasn't dead yet or if this was all an act but it was enough to keep him from breaking her cover.

"John!" He shouted, still struggling to go to him but Sophia's arm made it's way across his throat, holding him firmly in place.

"Get him in the car, we need to wipe this place for finger prints." The woman spat out. Two of the four men in the room moved to grab John dragging him unceremoniously. "And keep your eyes peeled for the others, I need to know what he did with them." They were almost to the door when the other doors burst open with black suited commandos.

"Mycroft..." Sophia muttered angrily as the two holding John dropped him, grabbing their guns. John stabbed both of them with some kind of syringe but it didn't work quickly enough to keep one of them from firing. Sophia spun herself and Sherlock so that she was between him and the man, he could feel the impact as it knocked them both to the ground.

"Sophia!" John shouted as he crawled over towards the pair of them. The commandos had secured the other three rather quickly. The threat was over and yet as he looked down at Sophia's head, his hands painfully squashed behind him, he was still afraid.

"Owww..." She groaned, slipping to the side enough so that Sherlock could sit up.

"Don't move, where did the bullet hit you?" John was in Doctor mode, trying to remove Sophia's jacket but she swatted his hands away, instead she popped the clasps on the front of her top then did up the zip on her jacket, coughing slightly as she did so. "Stay still I need to see the damage."

"Other than a huge bruise that the bullet is annoyingly prodding into at the moment and possibly a cracked rib or two I'm okay. Which is more than I can say for that brother of yours when I get through with him." She growled the last part with a glance at Sherlock. "I told him not to go in until we came out. If I didn't think he'd probably enjoy it I'd ram that umbrella of his so far up his... owww." She reached into a pocket used a key to unlock Sherlock's handcuffs, then stood, which caused her to groan in pain again.

"But how?" John asked.

"Bullet proof bodice top. Honestly John, didn't you notice that the material is a good deal thicker than would normally be accounted for even if it was boned?" Sherlock responded as he rubbed his wrists to restore circulation. "Sometimes I think you don't notice anything at all. Though it is a very good tailoring job, custom fitted?" Sophia nodded

"You didn't think I was going to give you our only bullet proof vest did you?" She asked with a smirk.

"Everything under control?" Mycroft asked as he strolled in with a glance to Sherlock that failed to hide his concern, at least from those present, it might have worked on your average person but this didn't even fool John or Sophia. "We heard gunfire."

"I shot John, which was part of the plan. Then your boys ran in and spooked them which nearly got Sherlock shot if I hadn't taken the bullet for him, which was not part of the plan. What part of 'stay outside until we come back outside then storm the place' do you not understand?" She scowled at Mycroft, the pain was making her angrier than she might have been if he'd just messed up the plan some other way, or maybe she was taking it personally that Sherlock nearly got killed? It was hard to tell. "Now seeing as the doctor and I both need to get home for a little medical treatment and a change of clothes the three of us are going to get in your car and your driver is going to take us home. You can either get a ride with this lot, come with us or have your driver come back for you. If this does not happen, immediately, then I assure you that you will deeply, deeply regret it." Mycroft took a long look at the glare on Sophia's face before glancing at John's frown and Sherlock's raised eyebrow and finally nodding.

"So what did Mycroft and John promise you to get you to come out and rescue me?" Sherlock asked as they headed for the limo. "Not that I needed rescuing, I would have gotten free eventually." He added with a breezy confidence that made John and Sophia exchange a smirk.

"Well since you made the promise for John to spend time with me, John made a promise about you... I think I'll let him explain." Sophia grinned as she slid into the seat, Sherlock glared at John who shrugged. "But first, why don't you tell me your brilliant escape plan... I'd love to hear why I could have taken the time to handle the job I was working on without blowing my cover and not been shot at." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her overly cheerful curious tone. She knew he'd had nothing, they both knew, he'd clearly been rubbing off on them too much. And they knew he knew they knew... there was an awful lot of knowing going on. Usually he was frustrated by people being so slow, but he could have done with that right about now.


	7. All places are alike, except 221B

I do not own Sherlock, The Cat That Walked By Himself or The Princess Bride.

This is the last chapter but I promise it's lovely and fluffy.

The knock was familiar.

"Come in." John called as he added milk to the tea he had just made for himself and Sherlock. It was nice that Sherlock had actually gone to the shop to get it this time, he was certainly glad Sherlock seemed to have accepted the challenge of keeping up his end of the deal with Sophia.

Last week Sherlock had even gone in and solved (with explanations written out and suggested places to look for evidence) three boxes of Lestrade's cold cases that were apparently so boring that he'd 'needed' to break in to get them and finish by shooting the wall which lead to a bunch of cops charging in when he finished just to convince himself to stay awake. There had been a mixed reaction to that but he'd tried and once Lestrade had calmed down enough to actually look at what Sherlock had done he was mostly grateful about it. Molly on the other hand had been utterly delighted (if a little surprised) when Sherlock had dragged John to the morgue to give her a surprise birthday party complete with hat, cake and a necklace with a preserved fetal mouse in resin as the pendant. John thought the present was a little creepy but Molly was just thrilled Sherlock had remembered her birthday, let alone put so much effort into arranging something, and the cake was rather good so John called it a win and just told Sherlock how proud he was of him for having come up with it on his own. He was a little worried what his present might be if Sherlock tried this again in two months' time for his birthday though.

As Sophia came in John wondered if he'd have time to drink the tea, she usually didn't mind waiting a few minutes, or even coming back later if they were in the middle of a case, but there had been the time they'd had to race off to make a train on a few seconds notice.

"Hi John." Sophia looked tired, her usually animated face pale and instinctively John began to look for injuries, wondering if there was anything hidden by her clothing, which was all rather damp, unsurprising given the heavy rain outside. Her hair hung about her head, many people would have thought it might make her less attractive but John was used to seeing people at their worst, in the throes of sickness or injury, and he took it all quite in stride. "Sherlock, I need to borrow John."

"I expected as much." Sherlock commented from where he stood by the window, his violin in his hands, the playing having stopped at Sophia's knock.

"Can I finish my cup of tea first? The weather looks terrible I might need to fortify myself."

"Yes, yes of course, but we won't be going out." She seemed distracted, and John let his eyes slide over her again to double check that she appeared uninjured.

"Should I bring my medical kit?" He asked carefully as Sherlock put down his violin gently and accepted his cup of tea from John.

"No John, can't you see? Something has happened, something which has caused a deep emotional reaction, perhaps even shock, something she doesn't want to talk about in specifics, at least not with me, and she feels the need for comfort. You are a very comforting person John, I can understand the urge." Sherlock commented, causing John to look up to him in surprise. Sherlock could 'understand the urge'... Sherlock? But then he looked back to Sophia, all the signs were there, setting his own cup of tea on the table he wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the cold wetness of her hair against his neck, she melted into the hug, clinging back almost desperately.

"Movie night?" She asked softly.

"Of course. And we can talk about it, or not, it's entirely up to you, but first we need to get you out of these wet clothes." John said, his voice warm and soothing, but his concern for her health coming through. People's immune systems were lower after a shock and the last thing she would need while dealing with... whatever it was, was catching a chill.

"I hardly think sexual advances are appropriate at the moment." Sherlock commented, missing the point, as he sipped at his tea, trying to identify what he was feeling without revealing it. It was odd, he felt left out, and not because she was taking John away, he felt the urge to do something, to fix it in some way... but he had as little idea what to do as he had when John had been upset about any of his girlfriends leaving him, or when Sherlock had left an arm in the bathtub. The look John shot him was puzzling, but more so was the way Sophia peeked at him over John's shoulder, clearly thinking something... but both of them were more difficult to predict in many ways than most people, at least to Sherlock.

"On second thought, could we watch the movies here? I can pop downstairs, change into my pyjamas, grab some ice cream and popcorn." She asked, both her and John looking to Sherlock for a response.

"I hope you don't expect me to go out in this weather." Sherlock responded grouchily. "I suppose I could play my violin in my room... but I don't see why I should have to when you presumably have a perfectly serviceable television downstairs if that was your initial plan." He frowned.

"No, you shouldn't have to. We'll go downstairs." John felt the tension in Sophia's shoulders as she pulled away.

"Sherlock, I think Sophia meant to ask if you wanted to join us to watch the movie... it's something friends sometimes do together, to bond?" John commented, Sherlock could hear the hints in his voice, this was one of those times where sentiment was involved wasn't it?

"Fine. But not a murder mystery, I always find those terribly tedious, the plots are so obvious." He acceded, perhaps less graciously than most people but for Sherlock it was positively fuzzy. "Are we supposed to wear pyjamas as well? I fail to see why she should be allowed a more casual mode of dress and not us."

"I told you the first time we met you could consider clothing optional if you wanted Sherlock, but yes pyjamas might be an idea. I'll be right back." Sophia managed a small smile, it was a little shaky but it was there. Sherlock kept his eyes on John as she left, waiting for his reaction.

"That was very nice of you Sherlock. At least a medium nice thing." John commented approvingly, patting his flatmate on the arm before going to his room to search for some blankets. It wasn't long before the three of them were changed and back in the living room of 221B, though Sherlock and Sophia both had dressing gowns on over their pyjamas and John had one of his softest jumpers on over his.

"So what do you want to watch first? I brought up Rocky Horror, Labyrinth and The Princess Bride, I figured classics were the way to go. Sherlock do you want to pick?" Sophia asked as she set the disks on the table and pulled out two tubs of ice cream and a few packets of microwave popcorn, John grabbed one of the packets, removing a jar from the microwave (that he diplomatically didn't look too closely at) and setting it going.

"I thought I said no murder mysteries." Sherlock said, earning him twin odd looks. "Rocky Horror? Most horror movies feature a mysterious killer or a secret about the antagonists for which the killer decides they must die..."

"It's not really like that... the only people who die in Rocky Horror you know who and why... It's not exactly a horror movie, not entirely anyway. Haven't you seen it?"

"No, or if I have I deleted it. The same is true of the other two, I have no particular preference. John? Perhaps you can choose, you have a greater interest in movies and know what I tend to find amusing." Sherlock suggested as John tipped the popcorn into a large bowl.

"As you wish." It was an unusual way to phrase his agreement and he said it in an odd tone of voice, but it seemed to be some signal Sophia understood, she grinned, raising an eyebrow to confirm his choice. "It's got fencing, torture, true love, miracles..."

"As you wish was not one of the choices..." Sherlock commented in confusion, sparking a chuckle from John as he set the popcorn on the table, Sherlock frowned, sitting on his chair, Sophia sat on the sofa, she passed John The Princess Bride.

"Farm boy, pass me that blanket." She said as John stood from inserting the disc, pointing to the blanket John had set down on his chair, Sherlock watched the reaction, John was usually upset by being asked to fetch items within easy reach, but John smiled. It seemed to be some joke he didn't understand, he frowned.

"As you wish." John held the blanket out to Sophia, who took it from him but gripped his wrist, pulling him down beside her, she spread the blanket over both their laps. They looked cosy as she leaned into his shoulder and John put one arm about her, gathered toward one end of the sofa, and again Sherlock felt an odd pang of something, whatever it was it eased when Sophia patted the space next to her, a gesture for Sherlock to join them. It seemed impractical, crowding together on the sofa when they had other chairs, but he couldn't deny sharing body heat was warm, and strangely soothing.

Sherlock had complained about it being a romance right before the boy from the film had, causing both John and Sophia to laugh, which in turn made Sherlock pout. It was when he pointed out that the giant wasn't using his feet to help climb the cliff, which seemed unlikely, that Sophia took hold of his arm. She slipped it behind her as she shuffled forward slightly, so that his hand came to rest on her far hip next to John's thigh, as she had twisted slightly to do so, her back against the side of John's chest, and Sherlock's face coming to rest against her chest, which made rather a pleasant pillow. The angle was uncomfortable until he shifted slightly to curl into it, leaning against her, and in turn John, shuffling his bottom to the very farthest side of the sofa as his top half moved toward the middle. He might have protested but after quickly settling the blanket more firmly over the three of them her hand made its way into his hair, stroking his dark curls soothingly, it quietened his thoughts a little, and he let the relaxation spread through him.

It was quiet after that, but peacefully so, the three of them curled into one another. John even began to suspect Sherlock was asleep, he was never this quiet for so long unless he was in his mind palace, he expected him to jump up at any moment and shout 'Bored!' As the movie wound to an end he was reluctant to move to put on the next one, instead he looked down, as he had more than once, at Sophia, who shifted slightly to look back up at him.

"So... you and Sherlock...?" John asked, quietly, as the credits rolled on the screen, they had kissed after all, and she'd taken a bullet for him, not to mention he had spent over an hour with his head on her chest, it made sense that the one person he liked who Sherlock didn't scare away would be attracted to the eccentric genius.

"And you." Her voice was equally soft, not wanting to wake their dark haired friend, but it wasn't a question, though it held hints of pleading for understanding.

"You kissed him. I... uh... I guess I waited too long..."

"John. Sherlock has a brilliant mind, trying to keep up with him is thrilling, as well you know, not to mention he's very handsome, of course I kissed him, I'm only human for goodness sake." John sighed, taking that as an answer, but Sophia continued. "You're just as special though, you might not think so, Sherlock may not admit to thinking so, but you are, not for your mind, we're both smart but not Sherlock smart, no it's your heart. You are warm, and caring, and so full of love, you're the only person who was able to love Sherlock enough for him to learn how to begin to return it." John took a breath, to protest again that he was straight but Sophia cut him off. "Don't pretend this is about sexuality, you wouldn't be so defensive if you didn't love him, even if you don't want to have sex with him. Your ex-girlfriends left because they assumed you could only love one person that deeply, that you would have to choose, and that you chose him, I haven't John. I never want to come between you in any way other than I am right now, physically, warm and surrounded, you bring out the best in each other and I want that for you, for both of you."

"Don't worry, I won't take it personally that you want to be with him." John assured her.

"Idiot." Sherlock muttered, making it clear he wasn't as asleep as John had hoped given the topic.

"I want to be with you. I don't want you to have to choose, I'd rather not have to, but I understand you're somewhat traditional, and sexy as it might be I'm more interested in Sherlock's mind than his body, not to mention he would make a terrible boyfriend."

"I would not. I'm never terrible at anything." Sherlock commented.

"It involves sentiment, and you claim to be a sociopath." Sophia responded in a wry tone. "I don't think you are, the way you feel about John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, it all shows that you're capable of caring, but you could hardly say it's your strong suit, I think the best we can hope for is friendship with a side of sexual attraction." She bent to press a kiss to Sherlock's forehead affectionately before turning back to John. "The important question is, John, what do you want?"

There was a long silence as John thought, considering how he had felt about the kiss at the crime scene, about the way she touched Sherlock since then, the way he felt about her and how spending time with her was unlike spending time with anyone else other than Sherlock. He looked down at her fingers still running through his dark curls, somehow it all seemed right. If it had been anyone other than Sherlock it probably wouldn't have, but he shared so much of his life with Sherlock already. The reason he had almost given up on finding anyone before he met Sophia was Sherlock, who was his soul mate in so many ways but left one part of him unfulfilled because they were both men. He couldn't imagine leaving Sherlock, which had pretty much ruled out a long term partner, but it was difficult to imagine having a girlfriend who also cuddled up to Sherlock and snogged him at crime scenes. He thought of the look on Sherlock's face when it had happened, the way he reacted, did anyone actually touch Sherlock? He would occasionally pat him on the shoulder, but it wasn't like Sherlock and Mycroft hugged one another, and he wouldn't let anyone else get close. He wasn't sure he could take the simple pleasure of human contact away from his closest friend, not now he'd actually felt it, goodness knows John had felt that loss before. In the end there was really only one decision he could make, but before he could say it he had to know something, for this to work he needed to trust her absolutely.

"What happened tonight, before you came here, what left you so shook up? I know I said you didn't have to talk about it but..."

"It's okay John, I'd rather try not to think about it, but I don't want to keep things from you, either of you, well aside from my not telling Sherlock how I find some things out before him but that's just for fun." She took a deep breath. "I... I was attacked tonight. The man who tried it had no idea who I was, I almost expect it when I'm working on a case, when someone might find out what I do, but this was just a common mugger. I was trying not to think about the rain down the back of my jacket so I wasn't paying as much attention to my surroundings as I should have been, he had his arm round my neck and a knife at my back..."

"My goodness, did you talk to the police? You don't have to tell me any more if you don't want to but you should report it..." John interrupted, his voice all concern.

"It's okay, they have him. A couple walked down the street at the right time, it caught his attention and I disarmed him, he lost a few teeth and I broke his arm and several ribs. The thing is that in the moment, when I wasn't quite sure if I'd make it home I realised... home. Since I my parents died I've been the cat who walks by herself, and all places are alike to me, there's never been a home, just wherever my clothes are, my bed, but it's not like that any more."

At some point during her explanation her eyes had dropped from his, focusing on his collarbone at the edge of his pyjama collar, her tone more of a confession of something she wasn't sure she was ready to admit, not so much about the attack but her reaction. He looked between the two of them. He could have both, he had never thought he could have both. This was what she offered, both. Not in the tawdry way people might assume he wanted but the abrupt simplicity that came up at odd times with Sherlock. They would be his and he theirs on their own terms and their own ways. John used the hand that wasn't already around her shoulders to tilt her chin up and press his lips to hers, a kiss that started off gentle but rapidly grew more heated, deeper, full of unexpressed emotion.

"Finally." Sherlock said with mild disdain. "I always knew you were slow sometimes John but this was getting ridiculous." John scowled slightly, as if Sherlock was really in a position to judge, she'd kissed him not the other way around, and he didn't think Sherlock had done anything about it since. He was about to say so but Sophia kissed him again with a smirk on her lips and he found himself not caring quite so much, it didn't matter how long it had taken him to figure out what he wanted, the important thing was that it had found him anyway and he was very happy it had. "You need to put a new movie on John." Sherlock added.


End file.
